Shoe Song

Pile of old shoes.

Shoes are marching through my mind like ducklings

one after the other, noses to butt,

in a long circling line that surround earth,

and their clumping feet slap on the globe’s crust

with cumulative thwack that goes to the moon,

rebounding back with a lilting echo.

What’s in a shoe? Your life depends on it,

as in Xenophon’s book Anabasis,

or a mountaineer’s chilling, boasting memoir.

Don’t ever wear your shoes to bed, or you

will regret the state of your feet come dawn!

They say a man is judged by his dress shoes,

but I say a man is judged by his tongue

and not the black tongue of a leather shoe!

Kevin T McEneaney

Author of The Enclosed Garden and Longing, translated into French and Japanese
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